


Secret Santa - The Lonely Goblin King

by Creeper_Keaton



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M, Little Tin Soldier, Pikuna!, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 01:58:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5521154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creeper_Keaton/pseuds/Creeper_Keaton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bog witnesses a certain wedding-breaking event, and a very impetuous fairy decides to put his morals to the test. Very loosely based on The Little Tin Soldier.</p><p>My Secret Santa gift for Pikuna on Tumblr!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Santa - The Lonely Goblin King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pikuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pikuna/gifts).



> I really hope you like it, and I'm sorry it ended up being so long!
> 
> I wasn't sure what to write for you, but that little conversation about Forest Elders got me picturing different parts of the Forest, which led to this. So I hope it's tolerable, and again sorry for the lateness of posting it! I had to work today, I'm so sorry! 
> 
> Anyway, Merry Christmas, and happy holidays!

Progress was, for this time of year, rather slow; perhaps that was what found him out on the borders that fateful day. He was overseeing the work of the goblins, watching as primrose petals hit the ground, relishing in the fragrant perfume of their crushed, darkened pink forms. They were behind, as far too many of the cursed flowers had sprouted up this particular Spring. It was as he approached a rather stalwart cluster that he heard it, a fluting voice and that cursed word, _love_ , before a fairy fluttered straight over the border, laughter making her voice ring like chiming bells. The bells certainly stopped when she realized her precious sunlight was diminished, hidden by the roots and drooping branches now over her head. He had the pleasure of seeing her gasp, her eyes round and dark with fear.

Any thoughts of a simple fright vanished when the tiny thing caught hold of a primrose petal, and he felt his temper flare. Let his mother say what she would about his anger, it was wholly justified. A great, hulking goblin caught hold of her, and she sputtered some weak excuse, an _apology_ , that was ignored. A kick sent the goblin stumbling, and he himself moved forward to grasp for her arm. She screamed, aiming a swift kick at his outstretched fingers, before bolting as fast as she could away from him.

Mood now completely soured, he pulled back into the shadows as he watched her patterned lace wings retreat back into the safety of the Light Fields.

###### 

Bog snarled in rage, flying up and down the Borders as he surveyed the goblins' work. Primrose after primrose fell, and he more than eagerly sank a claw into a few.

To think a fairy had tried to take one!

He let himself be lost to the absolute destruction of the flowers, working farther and father north. A small clearing offered more of a view to the dismal Light Fields, and for a moment he was confused by the dark blot in the sky. Nothing there was dark; it went against an unspoken rule.

Squinting at the harsh bright blue of the sky he tried to pick out the dark mote, locking on when he saw it suddenly drop from quite a height only to catch just before a tumble in the grass. A bird? No, far too clumsy, as it had just flown into a flower, sending puffs of dandelion cotton spinning. Not a dragonfly or a beetle, either, even if they were known to wander across the Border. That didn't leave much else, save...

Could it be a fairy? A fairy, that dark and clumsy and so very close to his Dark Forest? Could there possibly be two such fairies daft enough to wander so close to his borders in one day?

He flitted as close as he dared to the Light Fields, clinging to an overhanging tendril of vine. It certainly was a fairy, and the bright white dress, smudged from her adventures, connected the fact that is was the Primrose Thief. Was she trying to beat them north, get another chance at the cursed pink flower?

Her rather daring barrelroll made him wonder if she had succeeded and Dusted herself; that was no way for any grown creature to act. But she dropped again, alighting on a wide leaf just as he noticed a male fairy, so green that he'd blended, run into the arms of a dainty thing, her wings matching the blonde's garish armour. The dark fairy, all smiles before, was staring at the pair with a look of-

Oh.

There was a twist in his chest, sympathy that he really didn't wish to acknowledge, as the poor girl whipped her wings up and made to fly. But the green creature was quicker, and when he caught the now-fighting girl Bog felt a protective urge to move forward and help. As it turned out, she didn't need it; a solid pull-back modulated into one hell of a right hook, the crack of it audible even from his distance. She ripped her arm away, dashed it across her eyes, and flew at high speed in the opposite direction.

Call him crazy, but Bog dashed up, his form illuminated quite suddenly in the bright light. The dark one faltered in her mad dash for his border. Perhaps it had been unintentional, heading yet again for his dark haven, but he wanted to take no chance. She backwinged sharply, all but colliding with him and she was close enough that he realized her eyes weren't dark at all. They were golden, honey, amber and so many other things he couldn't name, all of them swimming with such a heartbroken look that he felt awful for frightening her. But he'd not have her in his lands, not when she could very well go for the primroses to get back her strayed lover. His only option was to hold his staff in front of her, barring her path.

She took an unexpected path, yanking the staff close to her chest before twisting it, pulling it forcefully out of his grip. She swung, wild and uncontrolled but accurate, and connected with his gut. It was more than enough to wind him, and as he bent double she bolted north.

The green prat reached for her, yelling "Marianne, my future queen, it's just a misunderstanding!", but he made no move to follow. Of course he didn't, because she'd flown straight into his Forest. No sane fairy would enter there. The fool barely came close to him, even, staring in disbelief at his spiny form. "And _you_ , whatever you are; you stay away from my princess!"

Bog really wished he had time to hit the fool, but that crazy fairy- a princess at that- had just careened into the Northern Lands, and perhaps he should do something about that. A glare was about as much as he could afford, the warning just a garnish. "And ye should stay out of mah lands." Turning his back on the fool, missing the widening of the eyes at just _who_ he'd confronted, Bog darted forward. There was a chance now, if she hadn't been before, that she'd go for a Love Potion. He wouldn't put it past the girl, if it got her her handsome fairy prince, and that was something to worry about.

He swore to himself that he wasn't worried at all for her well-being.

###### 

Not often was he forced into the rotted stump graveyard, the smell acrid and bitter in his mouth. But the leading edge of sentient mushrooms had informed him that the purple fairy princess had careened this way, and if left on her own she'd certainly be devoured. Definitely not good for kingdom relations.

The wild, familiar tangle of the forest tapered away, leaving only trampled underbrush and thick, weaving branches. It made something similar to tunnels, a massive complex that wove to every stretch of this neck of the woods. He could already hear shuffling underneath the dark coverings, and his hands convulsively gripped, wishing he still had his blasted staff.

Winging carefully into a yawning tree hollow, he lighted on a loose pile of debris, sweeping into as shallow a bow as he could get away with. Not five paces away, raised up on massive haunches, a rat watched him. When he straightened the beady black eyes grazed over his form, and the beast dropped down to all fours.

"I've eaten crickets bigger than you, Wingling. What emboldens you to enter my kingdom?" The rats had, over years in the Dark Forest, gained the ability to talk. Many stories were told, wee ones bouncing on a mama goblin's knee, about how this came to be. Some versions were as innocent as the old magick in the air seeping into them, granting them intelligence and reasoning. His preference was that they were the reason for the lack of sentient mushrooms in this part of the woods, and not one ounce of reasoning had been gained. As far as he knew they were the type to question first, then eat, deals be damned.

"I've come looking, O Powerful Rat-" his teeth ground fiercely together, "King. A- subject of mine has stumbled into your domain." He wasn't a fan of the set-up the rats had claimed, but to invite war on a massive region of oversized rodents was foolish. Best to play into flattery.

"Oh? You say they entered my domain. That would mean they left yours. Wouldn't that make them mine, hmm? Because to return this subject, I'm afraid I may need some... persuasion."

"Should you wish to keep her, be my guest and let tha' be payment. But she's small, straggly. Make nae but a mouthful f'r even your smallest subject. And fiesty, to boot."

The rat reared back, those eyes far more intense suddenly. "Fiesty? A purple creature, perhaps?"

At the recognition of the Princess he managed not to choke on a nervous swallow. Hopefully she was recognized due to her being seen, not because she was being served on a platter somewhere. "Aye, with tiny twig arms and a mess of fur right the top of her head. Couldn't digest that no matter how hard ye tried."

The rat's nose wrinkled back, incisors gleaming yellow in the debris-laden light. A rat's way of laughing, that. "Your little subject hurried on after meeting me. Didn't even stay for a nibble. I tried to warn her to stay, to avoid the Northern Swamps. But, as you say, fiesty. She gave quite a wallop to the Rodent Guard." Turning his back on Bog the Rat crawled back onto his raised dias, naked tail slithering behind him like a snake. The rest a mutter, more to himself than Bog. "Never have I seen such a disgrace; the whole pack squealing like pups shadowed by a hawk."

Bog had already started stepping backwards; the Rat had made a foolish mistake, turning his back on potential dinner. And there was no doubt that was the plan, what with the way those eyes had been glinting in his direction. Now that the Rat King's curiosity had been abated, there was no need for Bog to remain standing, King himself or not.

Just as he felt the reassuring brush of wind against his wings, the Rat King reached the back wall, planting a fingered foot against the solid surface and launching suddenly towards Bog. He leapt backwards, blessing his spindly legs for perhaps the second time in his life, as jaws clicked closed on empty air. A screech sounded, followed by a chorus of squeaks and rummaging, but he was already airborne and racing away from the grounds.

###### 

The clean air of the open marshes was a delight compared to the decaying cling of the Rat Graveyard, but he couldn't properly enjoy the crisp breeze as he darted from cattail stalk to cattail stalk. In those rotted grounds behind him, flying low was invitation to be snatched from the ground. Here, with open water and sweet rushes, flying high would get you picked out from above. Frogs had the boon of diving underwater; winged things didn't stand a chance.

He swept his eyes across the water, looking for that bold, deep purple. For a moment he thought he saw her, but a narrowed glare revealed a mess of irises instead. At their base, however, was a gleam of amber. Once again his hands closed around something that should have been there, and he took a calculated glace to the sky. No predators wheeled above, and only reeds stood between him and his stolen staff.

Angling his wings behind him, crouching as low as he could, he dove into the air and pushed as hard as he could to get there quick. Reeds melted past him rapidly, and he felt a second of sheer confusion when a reed suddenly appeared directly in front of him, one that hadn't been there before. He went to twist out of the way, but the reed slid along with him before a sharp back blade, three times, four times his length stabbed for him. Once again he tried to escape but the blade swung after him, opening to reveal a bright, bright tongue. His eyes widened, fear gripping as he slammed into a reed and tumbled through the air. He barely saw the beast, a huge feathered thing with sticks for legs and white and black speckled over its tufted chest, when that dagger- beak- stabbed for him again.

He'd lost his speed, lost all movement and when there had been an escape before, there was now a sudden blackness as that beak caught him. He was thrown against its tongue, the movement of the creature raising its head pinning him to the slimy surface. He scrabbled for purchase, but the tongue was too slick and the comb-like edges of the beak too fine even for his thin fingers. The movement continued, and he could feel gravity beginning to slide him backwards, angling him for a dark tunnel he'd never be able to escape from.

A jolt, and he was thrown to the side. Another, stronger jolt and the beak flew open with a squack, the sodden Bog King being thrown aside as the bird flailed. The water was fast approaching, unavoidable, and he twisted so his back would hit first, frantically fluttering wings trying to catch before he collided. That familiar flash of amber was above him, now attached to the dark shape of the Princess. He had a bare second to see her pull the staff back, all vicious and rage and actually kind of beautiful, before she swung the heavy staff violently at the bird's throat and he hit the water.

It was cool, pressing around him and he flared his shoulder plates like it would possibly help him. His wings continued to flit, but the soaked weight of his carapace stopped him from doing more than keeping level just below the surface. The wee dark fairy's shape fluttered above him, and he stabbed a claw towards the surface in a silent plea for help. He couldn't reach, didn't reach, but there was a flurry of movement and an explosion of bubbles as his own staff broke the surface.

Naturally it also clocked him in the face.

A great expulsion of a curse left him as a pocket of air, but he wrapped his hand around the staff nonetheless and tried to concentrate on swimming. He hated swimming. But inch by precious inch, the water feeling like molasses and his lungs like over-filled balloons, he clawed his way towards the surface. When his head broke free, there was little he could do but suck in greedy gasps as the wee creature hauled him onto a floating piece of drift.

Her shoulders were heaving, and she dragged a hand across her forehead with a sharp expulsion of air. Her eyes were still red-rimmed, but now there was life there, perhaps the result of fighting for it. He couldn't be sure though. "Woo! Wow, that was a work-out, huh? Are you all right?" Dusting herself off she turned to offer a hand to him, and it was more than obvious how much she flinched at seeing him. He didn't need to be a mind-reader to see how her eyes danced down his still-crouched form, taking in every awkward angle and crag as he struggled to draw breath.

After a rather ungainly hack (thankfully he didn't get sick), he shot her a look somewhere between a glare and downright surprise.

"Ye always take on beasts, or is this jus' a hobby brought out by th' Forest?" He managed to stand, shifting his weight onto his toes as they clung carefully to the rough surface. The water had darkened his carapace, making him match almost perfectly to the driftwood. Even with that little miracle, he was still horribly off-balance with water weight and all the confidence he had found with blending was diminished by his awkward shifting. A few sharp movements of his shoulders, flaring them as best as possible, sent tiny droplets into a rainbow haze around him. She flinched yet again, and nothing could have hurt more than seeing her hand raise to block him from sight. But this wasn't about his feelings; he didn't have feelings. This was about returning a foolish, if vicious, fairy to her kingdom before a war broke out. Flicking his wings for good measure, ignoring her tiny gasp of fear, he stood straight, giving her his best 'demanding King' look.

"Hobby? I'm a princess, we don't beat up people as a hobby." His wings folded in and she dropped her hand with a miniscule sigh of what strangely sounded like disappointment. He tried to ignore the way her eyes were now widely regarding him, because it looked too much like open curiosity and, possibly, admiration. But that made no sense; very little with this mad creature did.

"Pity. You look like you'd make a fine hobby of it." His arms crossed in front of a wide chest, and her eyes roved studiously over his jutting elbows. He fought the urge to drop his arms and lock his hands behind his back. That wouldn't be a power stance, especially whilst he tried to usher her back home. He had to focus on that. "Besides, what's 'princess' got t'do with it? Ah'm king and it never stopped me."

Stellar, Almighty Bog King. Perfect focus.

But instead of giving him a strange look, or worse taking off in fright, she threw her head back and laughed. It was unrefined compared to her dainty flights from earlier, definitely more subdued in emotional capacity, and it caught him completely off-guard. She still cradled his staff, and as her head tilted forward he saw some of the strands of bird's-nest hair tangle in the delicate filagree. Moving without thought, so used to his mother getting caught in the same situation whenever the staff was left about, his claws expertly picked the strands out.

It was when he heard an echo of a bullfrog that he realized she'd stopped laughing. And was only a pace away from him. Because- oh. Oh he'd stepped into her space. Fumbling backward, shocked she hadn't already pushed him, but his foot caught on the rough bark and he was back to splashing frantically in the water. He completely missed her blush, and the way a hand thoughtfully brushed her hair back over her ear.

Ten seconds and he was out of the water, one of her lower wings was drenched, and they were both sitting in exhaustion on the edge of the wood. He glanced at her, she glanced at him, and it was a shared connection; she started giggling, which made him snort, which made her burst into laughter. Seeing her nose wrinkled, he had no option but to join in on the full-blown mirth.

Shaking his head, he reached out outstretched hands, palms towards her in a silent plea of mercy. "All ri' then, little fairy dancer. We cannae sit here forever. Ye've got t' be gettin' back to your kingdom." She ignored his mercy cry, instead punching him on the exposed underside of his arm. It was a hard enough hit to sting, too.

"I'm no dancing princess, I'm Marianne. But I'm royalty all the same; who are you to tell me what to do?"

Whether she was pulling the royalty card as a bluff or not, he couldn't tell. But he took the chance to hook his hands behind his back, subtly rubbing the tender spot, and stood tall, much taller than her. "Ah believe I'm the Bog King, last I checked."

Her shocked face was priceless, and he had no more issues getting her to follow along.

###### 

Were the walk back as quiet as he had expected it to be, he would never have gained half the interest in the young thing as he did. She questioned everything. He found himself almost excited, explaining things about the vast lands he called home; when she found out about the regions and Elders he employed, she seemed suitably impressed. This led to a debate about the pros and cons of delegating his rule, and in the end he was reasonably sure he had her convinced on his (far more effective) methods.

She was almost cute, with her awkward steps and bumbling, and perhaps it hadn't been very diplomatic of him to tease her about it, but tease he had. She'd started out quiet at first, still raw from her earlier discovery, but whatever fire fueled her nature had had her taking jabs at him, both physical and vocal. However, the walk was long, longer yet because they were both wet and weighted down, and there was no way he could carry both of them the distance. After watching her having tripped over yet another pine needle, he had wondered if they'd even make it to the Light Fields border. And his castle hadn't been overtly far...

The suggestion had been made, to go to his own castle where she could take control of a trained beetle mount, she'd accepted without hesitation, and before he knew it they were swept into an antechamber off his throne room. It went from awkward to surreal just like that, and just as she gave him a shy smile his mother swept in, firmly stomping the little jolt in his chest into the ground.

"Oh leaping lizards, you've brought this one back a mess! You kids these days, can't keep neat at all with your courting!"

"Mother, no!" And he desperately wanted to push her out, to turn to Marianne and reassure her it was nothing like that, forget the fact that she'd been there for the entire adventure and already knew it wasn't like that. But the wee thing just patted his arm as she stepped forward, and his teeth clicked together audibly at the contact.

"Mother? You're the Regent Queen? Princess Marianne; your son saved me." Her delivery was only a bit stilted, but the hand she thrust to his mother was a purely genuine gesture. He could see his mother's eyes narrow slightly, but she shook anyway. As soon as the connection was broken, Marianne grinned sharply. "Well, I saved him. But hey, points for effort, right?"

He wanted to point out that he absolutely could have fought off the great stork had she not stolen his staff, but a shout in the throne room had all three of them craning their necks to see.

"Marianne, my sweet li'l Buttercup! Fear not, for I, Roland, have come to rescue-" the pause was long enough that he caught Marianne's eyes narrowing- " _you_ , pretty thing." She looked far from pretty at that moment, lip drawn back in a sneer that almost put his to shame. He found himself drawing his staff a bit closer to his chest, torn between afraid and enamoured.

"Roland!" And she wrenched the doors open, the slam making the handsome blonde fairy jump. His hands were clutched around a familiar bottle, pink and glowing and heart-stopping. "How dare you show your face here, you cowardly, sneak-" Before Bog could move, the twat pried the cap off and veritably threw the contents at her. She sputtered, rubbing viciously at her eyes, but when she opened them and saw Roland, the way they lit up was unmistakeable.

Bog launched forward, dry enough at least that he slammed neatly into the conniving idiot at full speed. Roland went flying, but before he could follow tiny hands wrapped around his arm and yanked. He spun to the side, sweeping out his staff before Marianne could so much as move for Roland. He planted himself between the two, desiring nothing more than to take her by the shoulders and shake.

"Ye know what he did t'ya, and ye know you're worth more than th' likes of him, Marianne! Ye duin't love him!" But she tackled him, her tiny hands grabbing his forearms as she tried to push him back and away from the still-dazed blonde. He found himself actually stumbling back, a bit worried about hurting her, when she viciously kicked his leg.

He'd listen to the Temper Rant again, fine, if only just this once he was allowed to retaliate without too horrible a repercussion. Bracing his arms he shoved her back, noting with satisfaction her widening eyes. His staff was thrown to him (thanks Thang) and he swept it in a flourish, wings flaring for balance. The light caught them, once again sending a miniscule cascade of rainbows at her. She furiously blinked at the light, hands rubbing at her eyes. Roland bolted forward, but she barely noted the blonde as her fingers instead wrapped around the sword strapped to his hip. The way she unsheathed the sword was horrible, but as she shifted her weight her movements were oddly entrancing, underdeveloped as her skill was; she and the sword still moved as a single unit. He had no doubt that with training she'd be a fierce and formidable opponent.

As she grew more and more familiar with the weight of the steel, her movement grew confident. Roland was forgotten by both as metal clanged against metal, faces drawn close as they grinned ferally at each other, a shared love of the fight making movement a flurry. Her pupils were still dilated, and it gave her the appearance of a great wildcat stalking after him. Soon he felt himself stumbling back more and more, her hits getting subsequently stronger. There was a moment when she dove, every bit of force thrown into the strike, and his arms bowed under the weight. Her face was close, close enough that her hair tickled his cheek and he was left staring into her eyes. He felt lost in them, a creature like himself that grew up in a world of brown yet he'd never seen something the exact shade of her eyes.

There was a war happening in them, some kind of tumultuous movement, but she suddenly pushed more and it didn't matter because her lips brushed his. His arms dropped, weakened in his confusion and she nearly cleaved his head clean off. Perhaps that had been her intention the whole time, but as his staff clanged to the floor so did Roland's sword because her hands were framing his face now, lips pressed more insistently.

He would never recall the pink Dust glittering around her eyes as the potion shattered within her, nor would he remember his own mother's flippant hand-wave towards Roland, a small army of goblins tacking the dolt to the ground. He'd just remember the feel of her in his arms, their weapons crossed almost perfectly at their feet.


End file.
